On Your Mother's Name
by Her Sweetness
Summary: AU. After traveling for years, Yazoo finally comes to a place that resembles home. He can't understand why but he's drawn to the crumbling Palace of Jenova and the boys there who call him brother. Yazoo x Kadaj. Shotaish.
1. 840

A/N: _First FF7 multi right here. A few notes before you start, I don't use FF7 gil or years. I think AC took place in like 210? Nope, I'd rather use real-world years. XD I know, I'm awful. But this is AU, so, you know, gotta expect it. Right, so, jump in._

* * *

On Your Mother's Name

One:

"You've got hair made for a convertible, kid."

Yazoo cocked an eyebrow quizzically. The man's silhouette against the fading sunlight was dark and foreboding but his voice was cheerful and rugged, the tones of someone lonely and hungry for conversation. He shifted in the driver's seat and his bobble-head dolls that were attached to the dashboard shifted along with him; vibrated with the unnecessary speed of the small taxi cab.

The back window was rolled down and Yazoo had been leaning his had up against it, letting the wind blast his silvery hair around his cheeks and shoulders. The day had been so hot and stifling but here on the 8-40 in the moments before sunset, it was cooling and invigorating. Yazoo watched the driver for a moment more before rolling the window up half-way and pretending he hadn't heard the comment.

"What?" he asked.

"I said, you got hair made for a convertible. You know. I can just see it," he mused, "all that hair streaming behind ya. Would you like that?"

Yazoo raised a hand to his hair thoughtfully, curling one finger into a tangle of locks. He had never thought about a convertible before and when he did, the image was of some fire-engine red speed-demon rocketing down the highway. That must have been the driver's image, too, because he was rocketing down the highway. Yazoo looked at the speedometer - it was half hidden by the man's arm but the needle was somewhere past eighty.

"It might be all right," the boy hummed, slightly irritated. He wasn't interested in small-talk, he only wanted to get home, wherever that may be this time.

"I'm only sayin'… haven't seen hair like that around here. Normally people, they, you know, kinda keep a low profile." His fingers, large and hairy, drummed on the steering wheel and he was happy because he had finally gotten his aloof passenger to speak. "Buzz cuts!" He ran a hand through shaggy black hair. "Well, except me… but I don't come out to the country much…"

Yazoo stared at the hair wrapped around his finger; it was turning gold in the setting sunlight. "You think I'll stand out?" he wondered aloud.

"Like an elephant among chocobos."

Then, all at once, the sun disappeared behind the hills in the west. The sky seemed to erupt into deep hues of purple and blue; the darkness ran down the moors and covered all the trees and wide pastures. There was some hint of stars in the east and they twinkled faintly and Yazoo suddenly felt as if he had been in the cab for hours; he shifted uneasily in the dingy seat, looking out of the other window. He could see cows lazily grazing in the fields, now dark forms slinking between trees. The last bit of light from over one of the hills shot up, a fierce remembrance of a dying day, and in that light Yazoo saw it: the shadow of a tower.

It caught the boy's eye like some great fish would catch the eye of an old fisherman and in the instant that it jumps out of the sea, alive and wriggling, both the fish and the fisherman know they are meant for one another. He turned to the window, grasping the handle to roll the glass down. A lock of hair that had been resting over his shoulder flew out of the window and the wind was in Yazoo's face, the world fresh and strong, and the tower to his left just over the valley, a thing of great power and life. He heard something in the back of his mind, some low buzzing or humming, and couldn't take his eyes off of it.

He squinted his eyes in the evening light.

"… there? Hey, kid, you all right?"

"Huh," Yazoo sat back and turned to the driver. His eyes were in the rearview mirror, brown and embedded deep into the man's head, charged with the energy of a Red Bull.

"You just got real quiet for a sec. I was talkin' a mile a minute!" He laughed boisterously. "I was just telling you about the castle."

"Castle?"

He jerked his thumb towards the window. The road was winding around the outskirts of another large hill and that tower that rose up over the trees was getting closer and closer as they curved towards it. "Palace of Jenova," he said and placed his hand back on the wheel. Yazoo snuck a glance at the speedometer once again and still couldn't see the needle anywhere below eighty. "It was a pretty big tourist attraction back in the seventies and there're still tours given in the first two floors. But because tourism died out in the late eighties, this place has all but gone to pot. And no one important visits Charm Ridge anymore, 'specially no one from Midgar, so I was saying that your rock-star hair-do sure is gonna give everyone cause for a stare!"

Yazoo shook his head. "I'm not a visitor, I'm a resident."

"Where's your family?"

"I…" He paused, his eyes flickered towards the speedometer again, and then towards the tower that was now just as dark as the sky. "That's none of your business."

"Oh… sorry, kid, didn't mean to pry. It's just…"

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

"Just?" Yazoo hummed.

"You're so… pretty," he said.

It was past eighty. Now past ninety, Yazoo was sure. The other cars - _or had there really been any other cars? _- were all in the dust now and Yazoo wondered if they had passed the off-ramp to his new home. Yazoo was pressed back into the seat and, in the trunk, he could hear his one suitcase thumping around.

There was a strange tone to his laughter as he said, "I've never seen anyone so pretty. Not in the back of _my_ cab."

Yazoo ignored him.

There was a turn made quickly, so quick that they could have crashed into the guardrail and the cab was flying down the right underneath a sign that said Exit 54. Yazoo could see the man's eyes still, even in the veil of the night, and they were tired, so tired, and a little red around the edges.

The streetlights were a welcome change from the darkness of the hills; red and green lights flashed over the head of the taxi and other cars surrounded them. Yazoo rolled the window up when a car rolled up beside him and a young girl, a brunette no older than ten, looked over at him and smiled.

The cab driver said nothing else in the twenty minutes it took them to get down to Pays Boulevard, a small street tucked into the swooping valleys and tight pockets of Charm Ridge. The streetlights were spilling down onto the concrete sidewalks and lit Yazoo's window and the side of his face. He counted off the addresses on the mailboxes they passed and was honestly surprised when they pulled into the driveway of 201 Nowlin Drive.

He had expected, by the way the driver's mood turned so rapidly, that he could be accosted; maybe taken down a quieter street, or in a field, and the driver would turn around to him. But this street wasn't busy, and there were no cars, just a streetlight, shining down on them from above. Yazoo sat calmly, drowsy-eyed but alert and his right hand was positioned to grab the pocket knife in his back pocket.

The engine was still running.

"You're… you're a good looking kid," the driver said. "Your mom'd be proud, I think." He turned around then, twisted in his seat, to get his first full look at his young passenger. Yazoo let himself be taken in, and as tired as he was he held his chin up, his bright green eyes lit with expectance. All the expectance in the world. And it was probably that which finally deterred the man from reaching back in the seat and getting his fingers whacked off. Instead he said, dejectedly, "That'll be fifty-seven twenty-two."

Yazoo reached into his left pocket instead for the money and threw a few twenties at the man. He opened his door and went towards the trunk that the driver unlocked from inside. His suitcase was black and svelte, just enough for some clothes and a toothbrush. As he walked around the side of the car, he found the driver's head poking gently out of the window and he looked up at him with a face cratered and swollen from days and nights of booze. "Hey, just a word of advice. Kids shouldn't travel alone like that, you know? It's not safe. Word to the wise." He rolled his window up quickly and backed out of the driveway hurriedly. The cab swerved and was soon down the road and Yazoo stood watching, a ring of moths like a halo above his head.

The porch light of the house had been turned on, probably a result of the cab pulling away, and Yazoo walked onto the grass, following it up to the red-painted porch. The rest of the house was an off-white that seemed dirty in the dark but was a welcome sight from miles of travel. Before he could knock on the door, it was flung open and a woman's face was there, smiling at him from underneath sagging wrinkles.

"Yazoo, welcome home!"

He managed a small smile. Home… again.

"We're so happy to see you, so happy indeed. Come in, don't stand out there looking lost! You're home now," she crooned to him and took him by the shoulder, chauffeuring him inside the cool house. He suddenly felt as if it weren't summer at all but an impending autumn and visibly shivered.

The door shut behind him and she said to him, "Oh, you'll have to excuse the AC. Old bones like a good jolt of cold, reminds 'em that they are still living."

"It's all right," he hummed, though it wasn't all right at all. He was a naturally cold creature who favored the sun and warmth and could only imagine the rough days ahead. But instead of protesting, he turned to her, her large form in the doorway shrouded in a pink furry robe and said, "I suppose we haven't really been introduced."

"Oh, there's no need for that." She waved at him haughtily. "We're family. I haven't seen you since you were small but you remember your old Aunt Carolina, don't you?"

He nodded mutely.

"Stanley's already gone to bed, but you can meet him in the morning. You must be awful tired, I bet, riding all the way from Midgar. I was worried, you know, who ever heard of a fifteen year old traveling by himself?"

Yazoo had been traveling to live with distant relatives since he was very young and half those times he did not have an escort. He came like a package, a great gift from the gods to needy family members, because for the small bit of trouble of having a teenage houseguest, they would get access to his inheritance. But it was a curse even with the money, he often thought. Because with Yazoo came wealth and comfort and ultimately death. That's why he was here now, in Carolina's living room and unafraid and used to being with strangers. His twice-removed Uncle Gavin had died just two days prior and before him was Grandmother Jade. There was an endless list and that the beginning of that list was… his parents?

His parents, that picture he kept in the back of his mind that was filmed with dust and corroded with forgetfulness.

"Do you want to lay down now?"

Yazoo looked up at the clock that hung over the television set; it was a lighthouse and ticked loudly. It was just after eight and that made him wonder what time Stanley had gone to bed. He nodded however and Carolina motioned for him to follow her down a small and darkened hallway to the left, between the kitchen and the living room. They passed a bathroom and a shut door through which Yazoo's hearing was keen enough to pick up some soft snoring.

His bedroom was the last room on the right. Carolina turned on the light and Yazoo walked in, met with the smell of mothballs. It was simple and neat if not incredibly dusty. Yazoo looked at the dresser top beside him and resisted swiping a finger across the grime.

"Well? I know it's not Windsor Palace but I'm sure you'll be comfortable here. It's the warmest room in the house, you know."

Warmest didn't mean much here, Yazoo thought dourly. He set his suitcase down. "Thank you, aunt," he said.

"No problem," she moved towards the door with a yawn. "Have a good night, Yazoo. And we're so happy to have you with us." The door shut softly behind her.

"Happy," Yazoo whispered to the room. "Happy to have my money."

-

When he was finally able to force himself to sleep in that small, rigid bed, he dreamt of the castle. In his mind, it was still a dark, foreboding thing up against the sweeping sky but instead of being in the cab, he was standing in the middle of a large field, looking out at it. He felt the early evening breezes through his hair, flinging it back over his shoulders and then against his face and up into the air - each lock of hair like a silver leaf on the wind.

The light was fading and in the dark tower, suddenly, there was a light turned in a window. Yazoo squinted in his dreams and though the building was miles away, his eyes brought him a glimpse of someone in the window and they saw each other just before the sun went down. They saw each other in the dark and out of it came a low moan.

Yazoo woke up moaning.

The covers were wrapped around his pale form in some attempt to get warm but he was shivering and sighing, and he opened his eyes on his bedroom door that was flying open.

"Yazoo? Are you okay?"

Carolina seemed petrified, her brown-gray hair frizzed out around her face and her nightgown horribly askew. She lumbered towards him and the bed and sat down beside him, putting her arms around his shoulders. "I heard you whimpering," she cooed.

Yazoo frowned slightly, trying to pull away. "I'm all right," he said and finally wriggled free from her grasp. He looked to his right and out of the window the sun was already up and burning through the crisp pines.

"Bad dreams? I hope the bed wasn't too uncomfortable."

"Mm," he hummed, shaking his head. His shoulders were covered in chill bumps and he leaned his head into the wall, sighing. "I'm all right," he repeated and wished Carolina would leave. She smelled of eggs and bacon fat and he realized she had been making breakfast. He was hungry but the smell made him feel sick.

"Okay then…" She stood up and gave him a faltering smile. Yazoo watched her tiredly. He had seen this too many times; the relative who had their life, their own routine, all together and tried to accommodate another person just for some meager constitution. It was almost pity that he felt, not for Carolina but for himself. His life was on repeat, one overweight aunt after another coming in and out of his life and dropping like flies around him.

She said as she moved for the door, "I made some food. Don't hesitate to come out and say hello - Stanley's up finally and he's just jumping to meet you."

The door shut.

-

Stanley was obviously not jumping for anyone any time soon. He seemed that if he even rose from his seat, he would fall to pieces in a dusty heap on the kitchen floor. His head was oddly-shaped, his ears lopsided which skewed his glasses and he peered at Yazoo over the rims with kind blue eyes. "Good morning," he said, his voice laced with sand and gravel. "Sorry I couldn't greet you last night, but I was just so tired…"

"Aren't we all," Yazoo replied and gave some ghost of a smile that appeased the old man. He would die soon, Yazoo was sure, and maybe even sooner due to his arrival.

On the table there were three places set and Yazoo sat down between his two relatives, feeling awkward even as Carolina piled food onto his plate. "You're so thin," she marveled as she took her seat beside him. "We'll put some meat on you yet, I bet!"

Stanley laughed, a brittle sound. "She's always cooking with fat and grease," he said warmly.

Yazoo paled.

Carolina nodded confidently and began to cut into a slab of bacon as thick as her pinky finger. Yazoo looked down at his plate and was suddenly not at all hungry. He sighed and looked out onto the back porch where a gated fence stood just beyond a small shed and beyond that were the trees and the morning. Yazoo turned back down to his plate, picked at a few items, moved them around distractedly and tuned in like a radio listener to Stanley and Carolina's chipped conversation. They spoke of schools for Yazoo and the new clothes they could get him.

But Yazoo's listening was being interfered with, there was static coming through louder than Carolina's voice.

"Excuse me," he said and stood up abruptly. He was facing the screen door to the backyard and Carolina watched him, startled.

"Yazoo? Where-"

"I'll be back. I want to go for a walk."

"But so _early_?"

He opened the door. "I'll be back."

"But you're in your pajam-"

The screen door shut behind him. Yazoo wished that had been a lie: he didn't want to come back. He was sick of it. He was sick of the looping, of the same places and same faces and yet, the unfamiliarity of it all. The grass was cool and wet with dew on his bare feet. In the swirl and burst of the morning, he could hear birdsongs and twigs snapping up in the boughs. Yazoo stood out in the middle of the yard and let the low breathing wind rustle his hair and lose pajamas and he closed his eyes.

Breathed in the countryside.

He let himself bathe in the silence, something foreign to someone who had come from Midgar, a city in which there was no natural beauty or peace. It was five minutes before Yazoo opened his eyes and when he did, gaze positioned at the top branches of a tree, he saw a boy sitting there, brave green eyes glistening and short silver hair in the wind. He smiled.

-

To be continued.

-

A/N: _Well, updates will come with encouragement. I'm in school, so you know how that goes. XD By the way, yeah, I made up Charm Ridge, nothing else would fit my needs. Anyway, thoughts and comments are always welcome._

_Review?_


	2. Poisons

A/N: _Hello, hello... thank you for the reviews, I'm so glad someone's liking this. XD Expect updating to occur around once a week, most likely on weekends..._

* * *

On Your Mother's Name

Two:

"So! You finally came to this place."

Yazoo watched, speechless, slightly fearful that the boy would fall from so high up in the tree. But then, at closer inspection, he was holding on tightly and his face seemed confident; his face seemed familiar. His body was bound in tight leather that covered him from head to toe except for a small triangle of flesh at his neck; his pulse was beating calmly. Yazoo had never seen anyone other than himself with such silver hair, such piercing green eyes and he was sure for a moment he was looking into a mirror, some distant mirror. Or was it just a dream?

The boy watched him for a second before standing on the branch and said, loud and clear like the morning, "Don't take too long, brother. We've been waiting." And then like some nimble animal, he jumped down from bough to bough until he was on the ground, the grass and leaves flying up around him and he ran off into the woods.

Yazoo blinked, unbelieving of what he'd just seen. He replayed the boy over in his mind and though it had been such a quick encounter, he saw it, frame by frame. The smile on his face; the wind blowing his hair; his grace as he jumped down from the tree – grace that could only be obtained through not being afraid of falling, breaking something, he jumped as if he had fallen a thousand times.

And yet…

There was some fear in his eyes. Maybe fear or resentment.

That hair, those eyes…

Brother, he said.

"Yazoo! Yazoo, what are you doing?"

He turned away from the trees, peeked over his left shoulder and was unsurprised to find his aunt standing on the porch in her slippers, yelling after him. He exhaled slowly.

"You'll catch a cold," she insisted.

Yazoo doubted that; it was starting to warm up even now but he didn't argue and walked for the house, only looking back toward the trees once. He thought he heard something rustling there but saw nothing and kept going. When he reached the porch, the red paint chipping and falling, Carolina watched him worriedly.

"Are you all right? You seem very pale," she said as she shut the screen door behind him.

_I'm always pale_, he thought but only sat down again and looked up at her. "I'm all right," he said and thought of not mentioning the boy in the tree but if she knew, maybe she also knew who he was. Boys like that, eyes like that, eyes like his, could not be kept secret for long. "Hey," he murmured, watching her as she reseated herself.

"Hmm?"

"When I was out there, I saw someone. A boy."

"A boy?"

Yazoo didn't like it when people repeated what he said. He carried on. "Yes. He was in one of the pine trees, way up high and he… said something to me. Then disappeared. I mean, he jumped down. All the way and ran off."

Carolina blinked at him and then looked to Stanley for help. Stanley seemed very interested in his glass of orange juice however, and provided nothing. The aunt turned back to look at the screen door and the backyard beyond that. "I don't see anyone."

"I said he ran away."

"What sort of things did he say to you?"

"Not much," Yazoo said but already he was hearing it in his head. Hearing that boy call him brother.

Carolina didn't say it but Yazoo could see it appear in her countenance; maybe Yazoo wasn't right in the head, she might be thinking. She reached across the table and placed a gentle hand on his forehead. "Are you sure you're okay? Maybe you should lie down. Maybe your bad dreams are still haunting you."

Yazoo wasn't at all tired but he didn't think he couldn't stand Carolina's sad attempt at mothering for a moment longer. He nodded, muttered something about her being right, and excused himself from the breakfast table. The light from the open door onto the patio petered out on him as he walked down the hallway and back to his new bedroom. He shut the door behind him and was cold. He stood looking out of the window and was cold.

-

Yazoo spent most of the day in bed. He tried to sleep but sleep eluded him; he figured he was too riled up to sleep. His mind was racing and like a movie projector, that boy was moving across the walls of his mind. He was jumping off a tree again and again and finally, sometime close to five in the evening, Yazoo sat up in the bed, eyes alert and distressed.

He was crazy, that was all.

Some crazed boy who had escaped from the carnival or asylum - or perhaps a mixture of the two - was quite confused in calling him brother.

He had never had any siblings. No real ones, anyway. But he remembered about a year ago, when he had just moved in with his Uncle Gavin, he had a young son. The son, Haven, was told to treat Yazoo with respect, like the older brother he never had, but Yazoo was only regarded with resentment and maybe a little jealousy, if only because Yazoo was treated like a _god_ for having brought such wealth upon the disjointed family.

He couldn't say that he enjoyed making Haven feel like an outcast but he did remember the distinct feeling of a smile creep across his face as Haven watched him from afar. Always, always frowning or crying, silently, so his father wouldn't call him a bitch or a pussy as he often did. Once, Yazoo held out a piece of candy to the slightly younger boy and Haven stared at it for a long moment. He shook his head, hesitated, and finally went away and Yazoo never realized that Haven feared it to be poison.

Toward the end, Haven even feared the food his own father sat down in front of him, thinking it laced with arsenic or rat poison. He died of malnutrition and some days after that, Gavin hung himself up in the bathroom archway for Yazoo to see, for everyone to see, because he never meant to poison anyone. Yazoo never meant to poison anyone either but he stayed alive.

His only experience with having a brother was an unhappy one and Yazoo never sought any relatives with young children again. He turned his head toward his bedroom door in the darkening room and sighed. His stomach growled fiercely.

The thought of what Carolina had prepared earlier was still nauseating but he realized he had skipped a good three or four meals already and couldn't miss dinner. He rolled out of bed with a little difficultly and felt woozy on his bare feet. Maybe he was acting so strangely because of the exhausting trip he had just taken.

He read a long time ago that when traveling, your soul traveled at the pace of a camel and it took a while to catch up with you. The way that cab driver had been speeding he was sure his soul was still just getting out of Midgar and maybe that's why he felt so lost.

He opened his bedroom door and the subtle sound of music hit him. It was scratchy and static-snared as if coming through an old radio and Yazoo stepped into the hallway, following the sound. It assaulted his ears savagely and made him cringe as he neared Carolina and Stanley's bedroom. The door was open and Yazoo could see a bed at the side of the room and a desk upon which sat a record player.

The record was spinning quickly, scratching against the needle and as Yazoo stepped into the doorway, he saw Stanley sitting beside the desk in an old chair, creaking under his thin frame. It was as close to breaking as Stanley was.

"Oh, Yazoo," he greeted, his face wrinkled in a smile. He sat in a red set of pajamas; there were stains from breakfast littering his chest and darker, more set-in stains from other meals. Yazoo wondered when those pajamas were washed, if ever. He had been in them that same morning but didn't seem embarrassed at all about his state. "Are you feeling any better? We missed you at lunch."

"I guess I was still tired from my trip," he said, looking at the record go round and round.

Stanley nodded and made a small attempt at shrugging. "I remember traveling all over the country and I'd be tired too. Now, though... I don't travel so much."

Yazoo made a small noise, unsure of how to respond to that.

"Did the music wake you up?"

"No, not really."

"That's good..." he looked back at the record player and his blue eyes seemed to glaze over as he fell silent, lost in the world of static. Yazoo seemed lost in it too, for it reminded him of the humming he had heard when he was on the road and he saw the tower just over the trees and the humming from his dream, something deep in the back of his head. Stanley said, "Maybe you should get out and see the area, Yazoo. It must be boring stuck inside the house with old folks."

Yazoo regarded him strangely and Stanley only continued to look at the music box, his gaze sliding toward the window. He looked out into the front yard, the shadows across the grass that came from the overhanging willow branches, and his brow wrinkled.

"I'm all right," Yazoo said. "Just a little hungry."

"You didn't eat at breakfast."

"Mm."

The old man grinned slightly and raised a white eyebrow to Yazoo. He reached over to the record player and took the needle from the record, placing the room in silence. "I know how it is," he said while shifting in the plush red chair to his left. There was a drawer just below the television and he pulled it open, revealing a bowl of brightly colored candies. "It took me a while to get used to Carolina's cooking too." He reached in and pulled out a bright gold-wrapped treat, holding it out to Yazoo.

Yazoo looked at it for a second, watching it shake slightly in the old man's quaking grasp and reached out to it, took it gently from the ashen palm.

He wondered if it was poison.

So beautifully wrapped, so perfect in its package. Maybe the long road of travel would end here, maybe he would die on the spot from the poisoned candy, just as Haven thought he would. The end of the relatives and strange beds and strange breakfast tables.

Yazoo devoured it quickly and greedily.

-

"The Palace of Jenova," Carolina said as she sat back in the kitchen chair. It squeaked beneath her and Yazoo watched the legs out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the disaster. It never happened. "Oh, it was such a pretty place. I went there in high school for a field trip once and remember the high ceilings and the beautiful stained glass windows. It was really amazing."

"I heard it's all gone to pot since, though," Stanley said as he struggled with cutting his meat.

Carolina nodded. "Right, it's a shame that the schools don't go there anymore. It's falling apart, sure, but it's such a sight... What made you ask, Yazoo?"

He lifted his head and found that his plate was clean. It hadn't been particularly good but since he hadn't fallen down dead from poisoned candy, he had to eat something substantial. He said calmly, looking out onto the dark porch, "When I was coming here, I saw it. Well, part of it. The cab driver told me it was the Palace of Jenova and I haven't been able to keep it off my mind since..."

"It's not far from here; maybe we could go together someday," Carolina said and smiled warmly at Yazoo.

Stanley nodded in agreement.

Things like this were the hardest for Yazoo. He was still quite convinced that Carolina and Stanley only accepted him for the money that he came with but in their eyes, he saw some glimmer of wanting to be a family. And that, of course, they could never have. When Yazoo looked at Stanley hunched over his plate, chewing carefully and attentively, or Carolina lounging in her robe and rubbing Stanley's back, he felt sorry for them. Because he was here, their happiness, whatever sliver they had found in each other, would soon end.

Their world would end and there was nothing Yazoo could do to stop it.

-

A week went by before the uniform came.

It was a regal blue shirt with a white blazer and white pants. There was a dark blue tie and a crest on the left lapel that had a CRHS insignia. Charm Ridge High School, it said. The first thing Yazoo thought when he saw it laid out on his bed was, _Is this where that boy goes to school? _

But he hadn't had on this uniform and Yazoo's second feelings were a little bit of disgust and despair.

The other families hadn't pushed the subject of school for Yazoo. He was already quite smart and didn't see the real need of education with his money to take care of him. His other relatives understood his explanation just fine and maybe that was because they honestly didn't give a damn. Yazoo spent his days wandering the new houses that had been purchased with some of the money and playing board games by himself.

"Oh, don't give such a face," Carolina cooed and snickered as Yazoo held up the jacket. "Going to new schools is fun!"

"Mm."

"What was your old school like?"

Yazoo peered over the jacket with narrowed eyes. "I didn't have one," he said coldly.

"Oh, I see..."

No, she didn't.

"I don't much like this idea," Yazoo said, setting it back down. "I've never really gotten along with other children."

"Why not?" Carolina tilted her head, the curls of her hair falling in her face. She seemed honestly confused. "You're such a nice young man, of course they'll like you."

To that Yazoo didn't respond. Every reply he could think of would make him seem odd: I don't like the way other children smell; I don't like hearing too many voices at once; I will simply cave in if I have to be asked why my hair is so long.

Carolina held up the jacket as if their previous conversation were over. She scrutinized it a bit. "It could use some ironing..."

-

On Monday the weather was finally starting to get cool and Yazoo was not in a good mood. The house had been entirely too cold for him to get any sleep the night before and he tossed and turned and heard static and something moaning in the back of his head. Maybe he was too scared to sleep and dream but he blamed it on the AC and on his relatives who were too old to know when it seemed to snow in the house.

He was sitting in the passenger's seat of Carolina's old Cutlass that was a rusty blue. The seats were brown and torn and the rearview mirror was beginning to rust as well which Yazoo didn't think was very safe. Carolina bustled into the driver's seat, situating herself so that her large stomach wouldn't hinder her driving too much. Yazoo didn't think that was very safe either.

She was wearing makeup: blush and lipstick and eyeshadow. It all seemed very odd since she was only dropping Yazoo off at the school and coming right back home but Carolina had said this was a big day.

The engine started.

"You look really handsome," she said, pulling out of the driveway.

"Mm."

The car was barely going twenty miles an hour and that only added to Yazoo's dour state of mind. He opened the window but his hair didn't stir or fly up around his shoulders like when he was on the highway and the cab seemed to be going a hundred miles an hour. He felt stationary and ugly and was sitting next to an ugly woman and going to some ugly prison.

The ride was quiet and solemn and Carolina could feel Yazoo seething beside her but kept up a one-sided conversation. When they arrived, there were teenagers everywhere, crawling over the campus like vermin. The building was widespread over a field and flags were raised high, flying in the breeze. Beyond the soccer field and track, there were woods and, beyond that, Yazoo's eyes brightened to see, yes, the tower, that which was the Palace of Jenova.

"When I thought I'd never see it again," he murmured to himself.

"What's that you said?" Carolina asked hopefully, thinking he was cheering at seeing how nice the school was.

Yazoo only shook his head. "Nothing," he said and gathered his backpack from between his feet on the floor.

"Have a good time, Yazoo."

He opened the door and slammed it shut behind him. He walked off over the grass and sidewalk, following the others towards the front of the building and the two glass doors there.

Everyone who surrounded him was in the exact same uniform with the exception of the girls' short blue skirts. They walked with purpose and with friends and their voices were shrill and loud in the echoing hallway. Yazoo felt lost and encompassed in too many moving things throughout the day; it was a hassle just to change classrooms and the _looks_ he was receiving. The girl who sat in front of him in his math class kept looking over her shoulder at him, as if she didn't really know what to make of this strange thing sitting in the class - was he human?

The cab driver had been right, most of the boys did have buzz cuts. Yazoo was sure that when they looked at him, the only thing that kept them from thinking he was a girl was his lack of skirt. They watched his hair as if they would like to stroke it, like petting some animal. Yazoo tried not to make eye contact and between classes he would steal away into the restroom for some semblance of quiet.

It was torture. There was a boy in the stall next to him and Yazoo could hear him piss and moan and it was unbearable.

In a fit of some strange rage at being put here like some insolent child, he lashed out at the wall between the two stalls, banged on it harshly before leaving his own and the other boy let out a startled, horrified yelp.

It was time for fifth period but Yazoo found the back exit in the building, walked past the other students, and went for the fields just to the side of the school. He was walking briskly, not quite running, and yet wanting to get far away from that place.

His breath was shallow when he reached the top of a small hill just between the softball and baseball fields and he looked up at the bright, blue sky, his cheeks pinked. He let out a breath and closed his eyes briefly before opening them on the ground. He clenched his fists at his side, sweating into his blazer.

"Brother!"

Yazoo's head jerked up.

"Brother, I feel your pain," he said, standing at the mouth of the clearing. It was the boy from more than a week ago, bound in his leather outfit, his chin raised to Yazoo, showing his face proudly almost like some gold medal.

"It's you," Yazoo breathed and took a step toward him. "How did you know I was here?"

He only smirked, and said, "With each step you take towards us, I feel your emotions all the more. We all feel you, Yazoo. Why don't you come home?"

"You know my name..." Yazoo hesitated. He didn't understand what he was talking about or why he pursued Yazoo like this. But even as they stood there, staring each other down from fifty feet apart, Yazoo began to hear that murmuring in the back of his head again and felt dizzy. He raised his eyes slightly and saw the tower outstanding over the forest.

The boy took a step back and said, loudly, "Race you!" and took off running into the forest.

Yazoo was running before he even realized it and didn't really know why, only knew he couldn't lose him, not again.

-

To be continued.

-

A/N: _Thanks for reading! There'll be a lot more SHM next chap but you know I have to set stuff up, right? Thoughts and comments are really appreciated._

_Review_?


	3. Home

A/N: _Here I am, timely as usual. XD_

* * *

On Your Mother's Name

Three:

…_phmm…_

Yazoo was breathing heavily, his limbs pumping fiercely as he ran into the woods. His school uniform was crinkled and was soaking up his sweat but in the coolness of the afternoon there were breezes to help him, to carry him. He had lost sight of the boy but he could hear him, his breathing, his quick footfalls, and Yazoo knew he was going the right way.

… _I…_

There was a jolt in the back of his head, the humming again, through static and resistance, but it was coming in clearer and clearer and Yazoo squinted in the sunlight coming through the thick boughs. With every step he took, he thought he could hear not just unintelligible murmurs and moans anymore but a word. Words? He groaned – it was hitting him like strong waves upon rocks. Washed over him and he felt he was losing control of his legs, let them go on autopilot.

"You're quick, brother," he said and suddenly the boy was beside Yazoo, running at his pace, the wind in his face and hair and he was grinning. His green eyes glistened. Yazoo looked at him through his silver bangs with waning trust and more apprehension.

"Where are we going?" he demanded.

"Home, of course!"

Yazoo shook his head, his panting making it harder to speak, "If you don't tell me where, I will go back to the school," but even as he spoke these words, the boy and even Yazoo himself knew them to be a pitiable bluff. Yazoo couldn't stop himself from running, no, he had gone too far, and he had put his life in this strange boy's hands. In the abandon of the forest, deep and far away from the eyes of others, he was vulnerable and couldn't help himself.

The boy only smiled and raced ahead as if taken on wing by some god and Yazoo watched him go, watched the lines of his body move with the earth. And he was gone again.

But Yazoo could only keep going.

The wind was picking up and rushing through the trees, through the leaves, through Yazoo's hair and his face; his eyes began to redden around the edges, to water, and he felt as if he were on an endless march.

He wondered, without the boy to guide him, how far would he run? Where would he run to and would he even know it when it came up to him?

He thought he would, could only hope so. Because when this march was over, when he ran 'home' he felt that whatever spell was cast over his legs could be dispersed. That boy's hold on him would diminish and he would be free to go back to Carolina and Stanley.

And at that thought, some part of him laughed.

Free? Free to go back to relatives who didn't feel like relatives? Free to go back to doddering old fools who spent their time consoling each other in the leisurely stroll to death?

That wasn't freedom, some part of him scorned.

What is freedom, then?

Freedom! Freedom is here, freedom is in his face. Whipping his hair about his shoulders, making his legs ache, making his arms and legs pump over rough terrain, jumping like a doe over high roots and tree stumps.

Can you not feel autonomy approaching?

Yazoo inhaled sharply and tripped. He fell to his knees, catching himself with his palms before his face hit the ground and his breathing was shallow and quick and as he looked up, he saw it. Autonomy. The Palace of Jenova. In his eyes, so wide and shimmering, the green of a frosted springtime, it was something foreign and pristine. But the white bricks used to build up the large tower were chipped and browned. It was a single great tower that rose into the sky, surrounded on all sides by pines and bricks.

A wooden door, ten feet tall, was slightly opened at the mouth of the building and the wind that had once been carrying Yazoo there began to subside.

He realized, as he stood from the ground, that this place might not have been so beautiful to him if he had not spent his life going from dump to dump. He felt sensitive to any sort of beauty, even a beauty in ruins. And yet…

_Hrmm…_

The voice struggled and he squinted as he heard it. It was loud in his head, it was…

_Hommm…_

He took a few steps, cautiously. The cab driver had said there were still tours given on the first few floors but as Yazoo looked up he thought there could be at least ten floors and he saw windows up at the top, both large and small, all colors of some dusted-over rainbow.

The wooden door was heavy and he only managed to push it a little, just enough to squeeze through and the wind, a horrible draft hit him, as if he were standing in the beginnings of a hurricane. He gasped and looked up and the room he stood in, a mighty foyer, was large and decimated with the time and the weather, bricks everywhere, the back wall in disarray. The windows were as high as the ceiling and the floors were dirty and crusted.

Yazoo walked in on tender footsteps, his shoes crunching over the broken stained glass that lay on the floor. One of the windows to his left was shattered, only fragments of the red and blue glass still attached to the sill and the rest was on the floor, painting a dismantled picture.

"Is anyone here?" he called, waiting for that familiar voice of the boy to respond. He stood in the middle of the foyer, waiting for a responce but received none.

He sighed. This was pointless. He was finally here, yes, but he had lost the boy. Maybe he hadn't meant for him to come here at all. Still, Yazoo thought he could hear whispering, and couldn't tell if it was in his head or somewhere in the castle. Ahead of him about ten yards was a staircase, winding up into darkness and Yazoo wondered what was up in those levels where tours were never given. More broken glass and shattered walls, he supposed, but still…

"Damn it…"

Yazoo perked up, suddenly hearing a muttered curse at his left. He turned to where the wall was shattered, a big hole that peered out into the forest. There was rustling and Yazoo thought perhaps it was the boy, but it didn't sound like such a young voice. He stepped in the direction of the ruined wall, crunched over the glass, and asked again if anyone was there once he approached the hole in the wall. There was more rustling and then it stopped and as Yazoo stepped out into the grass once again, leaving behind the dirty tiled floor, what lay before him was the most magnificent garden.

Roses, all of different colors, sprang up from the ground; some budding, some in full bloom, opening themselves to the sky and to Yazoo and sat in the gentle breezes. They seemed to be thriving here, where the sunlight was just barely visible through the trees, coming down in aurous bubbles and landing on upturned petals.

Yazoo's gaze rose slowly and a few yards away he saw a man in black leather. He was taller than Yazoo and well-built, his hair silver in the fading sunlight and when he too turned to see Yazoo, his eyes were a luminous green. His silver sideburns outlined high cheekbones and he looked at Yazoo standing in the broken archway as if, although seeing him for the first time, he belonged right there.

"It's you," he said, matter-of-factly, and slowly a smile came across his face. He was holding in his hands a watering can and sat it down at his feet to give Yazoo his full attention.

_This is insane_, he thought, eyes searching the man's features. He seemed just under twenty years old, maybe slightly younger. _Where are these people coming from? Am I dreaming?_

"Who are you?" Yazoo demanded. He let go of his tentative hold on the bricks and stood in the grass just at the edge of the garden. "Why do you… why do you look like that?"

He seemed taken aback slightly but replied, "Brother, don't you know me? I'm Loz."

"Loz…"

He nodded then, his smile returning. "Kadaj told me he found you. We were worried… that you'd never find us. But in the end, I guess that was sort of silly, wasn't it?"

Yazoo felt lost, lost the face of this man, in the memory of the boy. Kadaj? They seemed so sure of themselves, so proud and positive to call Yazoo brother that he didn't know what to think.

"Silly," Yazoo murmured.

"Right. Because you were always on your way here, Yazoo. Weren't you?"

"I don't know this place."

Loz laughed lightly. "What do you mean? Everyone knows home!"

'Home' again? Yazoo began to come out of his trance, his clear eyes narrowed and he said tightly, "I don't have a home." He thought of Carolina, Stanley, and all the miles on the 840, all the miles behind him going back to Midgar, going back to when he was young and cobwebs clouded his memory. Even now they hung over him and any picture of real parents, real family.

In that moment, Yazoo thought he saw some confusion in Loz's eyes, but it passed quickly. He crossed the garden with some form of tenderness for the roses, a small attempt to avoid them but his eyes were on Yazoo, his attention all on Yazoo, and in the end a few of the flowers were crunched beneath his boots. Yazoo stood his ground, unmoving even as Loz placed a strong hand on his shoulder.

"But you've got one now," he said earnestly, as if this was fact.

Yazoo furrowed his brow and turned his head to look at the looming building just beside them. From a distance, it had seemed magical and special, something to be sought and wanted. But seeing up close, it was just a pile of ruins beside a rose garden, inhabited by people just as crazy and stupid as those he currently lived with.

In some anger and resentment, Yazoo ripped his should away from Loz's grasp. "I don't know this place," he repeated loudly.

Loz flinched at the shout or maybe the rejection of his touch. His gaze fell then from Yazoo's face to the ground and he looked around his feet. He frowned heavily and cursed, "Damn! _Again_!"

Yazoo blinked, agitation momentarily forgotten, and he looked down too. The flowers that Loz had trampled lay with broken petals and fractured stems at his feet. He hadn't known he was walking over them, Yazoo realized.

"This always happens. Maybe I shouldn't plant them so close together…" Loz hummed to himself. He looked down for a long time, as if contemplating ways to not forget how fragile they were and how big he was. He finally seemed to remember Yazoo was there, returned his attention to him, and simply smiled, eyes wide and searching.

The forest of trees that encircled the castle and the garden began to whisper with the evening breeze. The sky had changed color from bright blue to orange and rosy-pink, the clouds like scoops of sorbet; the burning oranges and red blazed through the pine boughs and hit Yazoo and Loz's faces, filling their complexion with full, vibrant hues. Yazoo looked off into the west and squinted at the light of the setting sun.

"They'll wonder where I am," Yazoo said softly, thinking about Carolina's worried face when he didn't come out of the school building.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," Loz said and walked around Yazoo towards the hole in the building. He seemed as if he'd walked through it a thousand times, coming in and out to check on the roses. Home? But could anyone really live here? As his boots clicked on the tile, he said, "Come on; Kadaj will explain it much better than I can."

Yazoo swallowed a lump in his throat. He followed as Loz was out of sight; foolishly, he thought, but he had to know what was going on. Was all this running, all this anxiety, just some game that two boys were playing with him?

His sneakers squeaked against the rubble-dusted tile and he turned, somehow knowing that he would be there, coming down from the staircase. His face was half covered by silvery locks of hair and he walked towards the two of them with a slight and boastful swagger. His lips parted and he spoke…

Yazoo screamed.

_Welcome home, baby._

He fell to the floor, not able to catch himself on hands and knees and thus slid against the broken glass and cinderblocks. His hands were in his long hair, thrust against his skull, because of the bass and force of which that voice came through. It resonated within him, shook his bones to the marrow, shot like lightening through his bloodstream and he was screaming but couldn't hear it, was shivering but couldn't feel it, was being held but by whom?

"Yazoo?"

His body was racked with that voice. The one that had been laced with static and quiet and in his dreams was real and loud. In him. His eyes were wide and on the crumbling walls, the stained glass windows with portraits of battlegrounds and thrones. He couldn't stand it, couldn't stand the booming.

"He's fine, leave him alone."

A woman. A woman's voice. Yazoo could almost feel her inside him, felt the soothing tones of her voice as she said it again.

_Baby_, she said.

Yazoo let out a lone cry, thin and wailing as if someone had stuck him with a spear, deep, deep into his core.

"But he's…"

_Baby._

Whoever's voice that was, at that moment, as he calmed and breathed, began to take his body back from the shock, it was all the comfort he would ever need. Her voice was warm and he felt wrapped up in a force much bigger than any he'd ever known. God? No, bigger. Lovelier. Sacrosanct.

But the haze began to clear and he was coming back to himself again. That force he was feeling was only there for less than a second and his body went limp on the ground. His head was held up, however, by a familiar grasp.

"Stop babying him, Loz."

"That's not fair; no one ever told me to stop babying you."

"I wasn't babied!"

There was laughter, some deep chuckle and as Yazoo's vision came back into focus, he was staring up into Loz's face just above his and off to the side, perturbed and nonchalant, was Kadaj, his arms folded over his chest.

Yazoo's voice was soft and he murmured, "What are you doing?"

Loz shrugged. "Now, I've got two little brothers. I've got to take care of 'em both."

Kadaj simply snorted. "Uh huh," he said and rolled his eyes. He turned his gaze back to Yazoo and raised an eyebrow. "You going to crash down there or get up already?"

-

To be continued.

-

A/N: _Okay, now we're getting somewhere. XD I'll be a lot less stressed next weekend so, yeah, longer chap because I know this one is short. Fun time._

_Review?_


	4. Family Portrait

On Your Mother's Name

Four:

The sharpness in his eyes, the way his arms were crossed and how he spoke quickly, words cleanly clipped now as he looked down at Yazoo made the long-haired teen think differently of this Kadaj. Although it was true that he had never known him, and it was foolish to have passed judgment on him so soon, to go so far as to think of him almost sweet and earnest, but he had seemed that way. At least in the forest…

"_Brother, I feel your pain,"_ he had said. Had it really been so foolish a thing to believe him? Even half-heartedly.

But as Yazoo stood, only helped mildly by Loz, he was staring at a different creature. Kadaj was looking at him through flinty eyes, chin raised in slight challenge.

"I felt something," Yazoo said, touching his temple lightly. There was still an echo of pain and an echo of pleasure that had died down in his body. He was somewhere between them.

Kadaj nodded curtly. "You shouldn't have such a severe reaction next time She talks to you. It's probably just because you haven't been around Her your whole life. I bet that's the first time you could hear it clearly, right?"

"She?"

"Mother."

Yazoo only looked quizzically at him and turned to Loz who nodded and said, "Our Mother. Jenova."

"The…" Yazoo looked up at the high ceiling, his silver bangs falling back from his forehead. "Palace of Jenova?" he asked.

"That's right. It seemed like it took forever but Mother told us that someday our brother would come here and we could be together as a family," Kadaj said, almost as if he were reciting it. He uncrossed his arms and eyed Yazoo once again, from head to toe, as if sizing him up. "Sixteen years," he said finally after a moment of silence, "couldn't you have made it here faster?"

"We were worried about you," Loz added.

Yazoo looked at the two of them, a growing feeling rising up in his stomach. Fear? Disbelief. He was quiet and watched the two of them for a moment, really looked at them, and yes they looked like him, the way only family members could, but he…

"I don't have brothers," Yazoo said weakly. It was his only defense against this madness. "And _my_ mother is dead. She died at my birth."

Loz made a sound then, some whining sound, and lowered his head. Yazoo's eyes widened to find the man, almost twice Kadaj's size, standing beside the boy and sobbing quietly.

"Oh, Loz, grow up," Kadaj snapped. "Mother is not dead. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Don't tell me what I don't know," Yazoo responded, on edge. This was all a bit too much. Loz was continuing to cry though he did make a half-hearted attempt to wipe his face with his hands. And Kadaj's top lip was curled back from his teeth and his plump, childlike face that was once so brave-looking was now darkened. Yazoo was feeling more and more like this was a bad idea and through the windows he could see the nighttime sky and the stars. They had him out here alone. He had been the easiest idiot to lure, too, all because of some unfounded curiosity about this damned castle. This pile of cinderblock and dust.

Where was the beauty he had been promised from afar?

Why did he come here?

Each question was, maddeningly, unanswerable.

Loz finally sniffed up the last of his tears. He regarded Yazoo and Kadaj through a sad smile and said, "Don't argue, you guys. Yazoo's here now, isn't that all that matters?"

"… I guess," Kadaj said at length.

"I am not staying here," Yazoo said, incredulously. Both boys then looked at him as if they weren't understanding and that scared Yazoo all the more. He could feel his pocketknife in his back pocket and thought of that night with the cab driver, waiting for his hand to reach back for him. But could he really fend off two men? And Loz was so big… crying, yet still big…

"What are you saying?" Loz asked, taking a small step toward him. Yazoo stood firmly but his hands were trembling. "This is a brand new home for you. Here with us, where you belong."

"I live in Charm Ridge, in an actual house. This place is broken and is missing _walls_… how do you two survive the draft? Never mind… I'm leaving." Yazoo turned slightly towards the doors, not willing to use a hole in the wall for an exit. He watched them out of the corner of his eye and said, "Please don't come to my house again," but even as he said this, the words were halting in his throat. They were insane, sure, but did he really not want anymore visitors in the dreary of the day? Maybe if he saw Kadaj out of this old palace, he would be that kind, understanding boy from the woods again.

Maybe.

So Yazoo walked for the door. Glass slid around his sneakers and in retrospect he supposed turning his back on men who he had himself certified as not right in the head was not the smartest thing to do. He didn't even hear the footsteps and before he even knew what had happened, he had a hand around his wrist, was whirled around like a woman on the dance floor and was looking into Kadaj's face and the sharp ends of a double-bladed sword.

Yazoo's breathing was quick and shallow but Kadaj did not show any sign of exertion. He held onto Yazoo's wrist tightly and the ribbon that was tied to the sword's hilt blew in the soft breeze coming through the wall.

"You really think I brought you all this way just for you to go back again?" Kadaj asked plainly. He seemed oddly stoic, almost as if he really didn't care where Yazoo went. Yet still, he had to disapprove.

Yazoo swallowed panic down. He only raised an eyebrow smoothly and tilted his head to the left. "You don't want me here," he said.

"Sure we do," Kadaj responded, voice wet with malcontent. "Right, Loz?"

Loz walked up to them attentively. "Yeah, we do. C'mon, Kadaj, don't hurt him. You can't."

"I most certainly could," he threatened, pulling Yazoo in closer to him. The blades were at Yazoo's cheek, caressing him like the finger's of a lover. But the real threat was over, he sensed, because Kadaj said 'could' and not 'can' and so he wouldn't. At least that was what Yazoo was hoping. He took a calculated risk by wrenching himself away from the younger boy's grasp and glared at him when he was out of the sword's reach.

"Mother wouldn't like it," Loz opined.

Kadaj glared fiercely at his brother then and Yazoo couldn't help but smirk. He said, "Goodbye, Loz. _Kadaj_." He walked cautiously around Kadaj, and saw that he had a sheath behind his back where he had pulled the sword. He reached the door and pushed his way through, waiting and counting his steps until he reached the edge of the trees, because he was sure they would come after him. He was surprised when they didn't.

-

The woods were different than he remembered.

In the daytime, they had been alive with wonder and spirit, pulling him closer to his goal. But, he supposed, everything had taken a turn for the worse. What he had thought to be some great castle was nothing more than a wrecked palace. The boy who he had followed so trustingly was an insane brat. The sun he had walked towards, that had shone so valiantly above the woods, had gone down.

In the dark he had to find his way home. This should have been thought of before he left the palace in such a hurry.

The thought, _Maybe I should have stayed until morning…_ crossed his mind but he shook it away quickly. Just where would he have slept? On the cold ground amidst glass and dirt with Loz and Kadaj beside him?

Silly.

What Yazoo couldn't understand was why they weren't following him. And maybe that was a little of his vanity kicking in but why go through all that trouble just to let him stroll back home? It was a waste of time for everyone involved.

He kept looking back over his shoulder.

Not like he could see anything in the darkness anyway.

Things kept moving overhead, rustling in the trees. Though they were probably squirrels and owls and other fauna, Yazoo could shake the chill bumps on the back of his neck. He walked stiffly, too sore and tired to run, too out of adrenaline, and by the time he walked back to Nowlin Drive, it had to be around ten.

He was guided down the street not by streetlights but by the flashing of lights from the tops of police cars. There were two in front of the house and one that had driven up to park on the lawn. Yazoo frowned at all the commotion and at Carolina in her curlers and robe on the lawn, talking to an officer. It took her only a moment to notice Yazoo, wearied and worn, strolling up to her.

She broke off in mid sentence and waddled towards him, throwing her arms around his frail shoulders. Her embrace was crushing.

"Oh my God! Oh my God! Where _have you been_?" she cried, pulling away slightly to shake him once, hard, and Yazoo was taken aback by the wild look in her eyes. "Where have you been?" she shouted and the men in uniform, traipsing about the porch and the driveway looked over.

"I was…" Was it better to lie? Or just not to say?

"We were so worried, God, thank you, thank you!"

Yazoo didn't know why she was thanking God when he had walked back on his own. He was crushed back to her bosom again and she smelled of sweat and sugar. Only when an officer dared to approach the two of them was Yazoo allowed any air.

In the whirling lights, the policeman's face was blue and red and blue again and he said, "We're really glad to see you've found your son, ma'am."

_Son_, Yazoo thought venomously. _Is that what she told them?_

"Hey," he said then, turning to look at Yazoo, "don't cut class like that, all right? Your mother was so worried about you."

"_Mother_," Yazoo shouted, taking a step back from the two of them. "What do you know about _my_ mother?" He furrowed his fair brow and before Carolina could say anything to him, he stalked towards the porch and into the house. The lights in the living room were glaring after hours of darkness and all he really wanted to do was sleep. His blood was racing again and his heart was pounding, aching, and for what?

He slammed his bedroom door shut behind him. Why had he gotten so emotional? He was sure that he had woken up Stanley with that display, Stanley who had probably only been asleep through the barest of layers. Yet, for some reason…

"_And my mother is dead. She died at my birth."_

… for some reason, it struck a nerve. Those boys and their "Mother" and yet he knew, absolutely, that his mother was dead. His birth had ruptured something deep inside her and she had died of uncontrolled bleeding.

He was sure of it.

And for someone to tell him that his mother was alive, was either Jenova or Carolina was blaspheme. He was sorry. Yes, he was sorry about his mother's death, the quickest one his presence had ever brought about. He wasn't sorry for Gavin or Haven or Jade or Paris or any of his family members he could remember. He took their death in stride whether it was Gavin swinging from the ceiling by his belt or Paris with slit wrists in the bathwater.

But he could see it in the back of his mind: some woman laying on a doctor's table, the sheets and he hospital gown stained with blood. Her thin legs writhing in pain and finally, after long moments, they were still. She was still. And he, the newborn baby, was in a doctor's arms and crying.

Yes, for that…

"I'm so sorry," he muttered against the pillows, having fallen down to the mattress. He placed his head in his arms and soon fell asleep.

-

"Yazoo? We need to talk."

There was tentative knocking, so soft that if Yazoo was sleeping harder he would have never been able to hear it. His first conscious thought was wondering if he was becoming a little bit like Stanley.

He opened his eyes and eyed the open window by his bed; the sun was just coming up over the trees.

"Yazoo?"

What time was it?

He growled tiredly and closed his eyes again. He said, "It's open," though his voice was muffled by the pillow. She heard and tried the door and was standing in the same pajamas from the night before and came in, padding on the plush carpet.

She eyed him, almost shyly and came step by step to him at the bed. Her mannerisms were that of a young girl, not an upset aunt, not an outraged mother, the person she had been last night. When Yazoo didn't move away from her or seem angry, she sat down at the foot of the bed and the mattress sagged with her weight.

"Listen," Carolina said and kept her eyes on the slim form laying down beside her. His body heaved slightly with his breathing. "I'm sorry about last night. About yelling. I was… so, so worried about you."

Silence.

"I didn't even ask what happened to you… but I'd like to know. I really would. Was it someone at the school who drove you away?"

Breathing.

"Yazoo? Please…" Her voice cracked. "I was so scared."

"So what if I had died? The money would belong to you anyway," he said coolly, face still lax on the pillow.

He heard something, like a soft squeak made down in Carolina's throat and when he opened his eyes, she was staring at him, hand poised in the air as if reaching out to him. Her brown eyes glistening. "Y-Yazoo, that's not…" she began but there was another squeak again, a tender sob.

Yazoo only narrowed his eyes. "Why do you pretend? We're nothing to each other, really; you are the roof over my head, I am the thousands in your bank account. If something should happen to either one of us, the other will live as if nothing ever happened. So why the charade? Why make-believe we are family?"

"That's not… it's not true at all," she pleaded, scooting closer and just before she laid her hands on him, he tensed and she halted.

"Don't do it. Not at the moment."

"Yazoo?"

"I'm not feeling so well. I met someone." He closed his eyes tightly. "Two people."

"W-Who? Were they the reason you left the school? Where-"

"No, now I have a question for you."

His voice was low, quiet and low, and Carolina could only choke back sobs and try to match him in calmness. "What is it?"

"What does… _my_ mother look like?"

There was a long pause then and during it, Yazoo tried his absolute best to remember back when he was just born. He'd tried it thousands of times, though he knew it was hopeless and a little pathetic, but maybe he could remember some deep-seeded memory of being inside her womb. Feeling the vibrations of her laugh or voice. Going places with her for months and being on her mind and growing with her help. He shut his eyes tight to remember.

And those words rang in the back of his head.

_Welcome home, baby._

If only, if only. He inhaled deeply, breathed in the scent of the pillows and the sheets and the room and nothing smelled familiar or of home. He had never smelled anything like home before, it was as if he had lived in hotels his entire life.

"I…" Carolina touched her temple softly. "For the life of me, I… can't remember… oh, I'm sure I have pictures…"

"Can't you remember? What were the color of her eyes?" Yazoo asked, eyelids flying open to see her. She stared off into space like her sister's face would be in the sky somewhere. Yazoo watched her with a falling grimace - why should he be surprised or mad? It was always this way, wasn't it? Everyone he asked in the entire family, they didn't know a damn thing about her… Not a damn word, not even her eyes!

"She was… was…"

"Was what? Why can't you remember her?" he asked, breathless. Kadaj's mouth was moving in his mind and he was saying that their mother wasn't really dead. Yazoo's eyes widened slightly. "What was her name?"

"Her… name," Carolina said softly, still staring at the wall. Her brown eyes were deep and blank and Yazoo felt something shake him in his stomach. That buzzing in the back of his head again, whirring like a lazy bee.

Yazoo scanned the room quickly, heavy breathing forcing his chest up and down. He got up from the bed, the sheets half-way wrapped around his legs and almost tripped but tore himself away, towards the door. Carolina seemed to break out of her trance and made to get up after him but the door was already shut in her face.

_She has to be real._

_There have to be pictures, videos, somewhere!_

His mind was racing as he opened the other bedroom door and Stanley was laying in the bed, snoring lightly. He coughed and woke at Yazoo's entrance and found the teenager over by the record-player and old armchair, throwing the lids off of boxes.

"Y-Yazoo?"

"They have to be here. Pictures. My mother. What have you done with her?"

"What are you talking about?"

Carolina walked into the room on shaking legs. "He's gone mad," she whispered.

Finally, photo albums. He flipped through a few, all pictures grainy and dusted lightly with a strange film. Carolina, he could see, used to be a slightly thinner girl when she was younger and she was running into almost all of the shots and there was one with her and two boys beside her and a man and a woman. He yanked it out of the pocket and turned around to her, holding it like a weapon.

"Who are these people?" he demanded.

Carolina squinted though kept her distance. "My… my family. It was a family photo. My brothers, and our parents…"

"But my mother was your sister, right?"

"I…"

Yazoo lowered the photo, eyes wide and disbelieving.

"I don't have a sister," she said finally.

-

To be continued.

-

A/N: _… It's all the coffee that did this to me. Thoughts are welcome!_


End file.
